


Interrogations and Trial Bases; Or, How to Dad While Drowning in Three Decades of Regret and Self-Loathing

by jilyandbambi



Series: The Hide and Seek AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anakin gets a small slice of happiness he may or may not deserve, Angst, Body Horror, Depending on your perspective, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Needless to say, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Padmé Amidala is a Saint, Past Abuse, Screwy Relationships, Self-Harm, eating issues, with just a smidgen of self-hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:52:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilyandbambi/pseuds/jilyandbambi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-hating former despot meets his twin children for the first time. In actuality, it goes better than you might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Holding his babies doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d been anticipating it would. 

For years he’d scarcely been able to so much as look at Luke and Leia without seeing the butchered corpses of the scores of children he’d massacred during the years he served his former Master. If ever he dared let his gaze linger on them for too long, invariably their angelic faces would begin to contort into agonized expressions of horror and dread, as a familiar red shadow crossed their little necks, and he’d have to turn away before he could strike the blow. 

If just looking at his babies was demoralizing, the thought of touching them, of holding them in his arms as they slept, had been debilitating. Simply out of the question. He knew he would only sully them, those twin galaxies of Light and hope that Padmé had fought so hard to bring into this universe. Destroy them, the way he’d destroyed the lives of countless other innocents. The way he’d almost destroyed their mother.  

But Luke and Leia aren’t concerned with any of that. The two of them waste no time in scrambling into his lap the minute he brings them back to the cockpit, drowning the Force in their adoration and excitement upon meeting him ( _Him!)_ properly for the first time.

Bold Leia, still suffering from space sickness, snuggles her face into his chest and shuts her eyes. While Luke, bright, effervescent Luke, digs right in.

“Where are you coming from—no, where are you _going_? Can we come? You don’t have to take us back to Mama just yet. We can help! We know how to use ‘sabers—well practice ones—but they’re not that different, right? Obi-Wan says you were ten when you built your first ‘saber, we don’t have to wait that long do we? Oh! Did you know we almost became Jedi, too?”

“Master Yoda came when we were little and tried to take us away,” Leia mumbles into his chest. “Mama and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka wouldn’t let him, though. He was _really_ mad. I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to get mad…”

“Would you have wanted us to be Jedi, Daddy?” Luke cuts over his sister, his blue eyes swimming with a thousand unasked questions. “Ahsoka and Mama said you wouldn’t. But it wasn’t all bad, right? You and Obi-Wan had a lot of good times together, right?” 

“What have you been doing all this time?” asks Leia, abruptly changing the subject. Staring up at him with his own solemn face and her mother’s keen eyes. 

“You’ve been having adventures, haven’t you,” Luke suspects, an impish grin brightening his already luminous visage. “Can we come too? _Please_?”

“During summer break so we won’t have to bother with homework?” Leia adds. 

Force, these two are _relentless._ He himself has conducted interrogations more merciful than this. Their questions come so rapidly that at first, he forgets they’re actually expecting a response from him, and all he can do is sit back and let their childish exuberance ebb away at the gnawing feeling in his gut telling him to lock the two of them up in the cabin until he can place them directly back into their mother’s arms, where they’ll be safe and sound and far away from him. Where they belong.

He’s pulled back to himself by two sets of expectant stares zeroing in on him. Noticing for the first time that their captive audience hasn’t been paying attention.

 _Don’t you dare spoil this for them._  

He apologizes and dutifully rattles off answers to every single one of their previously asked questions and the dozens more that follow as truthfully as he possibly can, without delving too much into the darker points of his past. Marveling all the while at his babies. His perfect, precious babies. His saviors. His miracles. The two beautiful blessings he can’t ever even begin to pay the Force back for.

_You’ll ruin them._

No.

_You’ll ruin them, just like you nearly ruined Padmé._

NO.

_Arrogant boy, to think that you, murderer, butcher of children deserves the privilege of fatherhood._

I don’t. But Padmé wanted to go along with this.  

_She’s always had entirely too much faith in you. You think she would’ve learned by now._

I—

“Daddy,” he blinks down at his lap to see Leia glaring impatiently up at him, her arms folded across her chest. “Luke asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry, Luke. What were you saying?”

“I just wanted to know if you were gonna come visit us more now that the secret’s out,” he says, his formerly cheerful disposition now soured. “But you’re not, are you?” 

“What makes you say that?”

“Because we make you sad,” he murmurs, looking away with a guilty frown.

Oh.  

_Look what you’ve done. Ruiner. Destroyer. Murderer. Butcher. You actually thought you could do this._

The twins stare up at him with matching crestfallen expressions. All their earlier buoyancy and expectation evaporated by their father’s gloom. And just that fast, the flickering flame of hope he’d been trying so hard to shield from his common sense is swiftly snuffed out. And with it, his resolve.  

_Fool. By now you should understand that you were built for only one thing, and it isn’t this_

His chest constricts and his lungs deflate. The remaining air chatters through his lips, harsh and ragged like the sputtering rattle of a dying engine. His arms drop from around his babies to dangle listlessly at his side, all the strength sapped from his bones with the last of his breath. His entire body is completely hollowed out. He’s numb. Weak. He is so unforgivably weak. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. He can’t He can’t He can’t—

_Oh Force, this was a mistake._

“What’s a mistake?” Leia demands, hands on her hips. All of her mother’s steel-cut poise carved into her face, but watery eyes belying her hurt. Luke is absolutely _shattered_. The two of them stand on either side of him now, no longer curled up in his lap. Did he push them off? Did they fall when he stopped supporting them? He drops his face into his hands and oh Force, he can’t do this.

Sweet Luke comes up and awkwardly wraps his arms around his neck with Leia following suit, and he is pathetic dead weight in their arms. A poor excuse for a father, propping himself up on his tiny children’s shoulders. What in the Force does he call himself doing? He can’t do this.

“ _Daddy—,“_ Luke starts. Then falters, unsure of what to say. Who can blame him? He’s too small to be seeing this. He _shouldn’t_ know how to piece his wreck of a father back together. He shouldn’t even be in this situation at all. None of this should be happening. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. He never meant for _any of this_ to…

“I was so happy when your mother first told me about you,” he chokes. “It was the happiest moment of my life. I just knew we were having a little girl, and she was so sure you were a boy, and we were both _so_ _excited_. W-we had all these plans. We were going to be so happy. And I ruined it. I _ruined it_. I—“

“You came back though,” Luke pleads, gently patting his back. “You made it better. You’re helping people now. You help us all the time. You’re good now.”

“You don’t understand. Your mother hasn’t told you everything, and that’s good. You shouldn’t know. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden. But you can’t possibly understand—”

“Well we don’t care!” Leia cries, with a belligerent stomp of her foot. “You’re not perfect, but you’re ours’!”

He lowers his arms and lifts his head ever so slightly. Leaving just enough room for Luke to clamber back into his lap and do what he’s probably been itching to do since coming face to face with his pitiful father; throw his arms around him and swarm his face with kisses.

He is so much like his mother.

“Leia’s right,” whispers Luke into his neck. “You’re ours’. And you have to come see us too now when you come see Mama.”

He clutches Luke close in quivering arms, and then slowly releases him to make room for Leia, who climbs up and once again lays her head against his chest. 

“As you wish,” he promises them. They press into him gratefully, and the three of them enjoy a few seconds of blissful silence before

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Leia.”

“Can I be a podracer?” 

A low chuckle, in spite of himself. “I believe your mother already gave you an answer to that.”

She huffs, thumping her tiny fist against his chest. “But that’s not fair! You won your first race when you were our age, and I’ve read _a million_ holobooks on racing! I bet I know more about it now than even you ever did!” 

Something that feels distressingly like pride kindles in his chest as he watches his brilliant little firecracker light up for the sport he had loved so much in his youth. _They are so much like you,_ Padmé always tells him. But he never dared to imagine she meant this much. Impulsively, he drops a kiss to Leia’s forehead and holds her tighter to him.

“Yes, well. Those were extenuating circumstances.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Never mind,” he smiles, tugging teasingly at the end of her fishtail braid. “Ask me something else.”

 

* * *

  

It’s nightfall on this part of Naboo by the time he gets the twins home.

They’re both drowsy and bleary-eyed from the day’s adventure, but adamantly refuse to let go of him. He’s not sure if that’s their mother’s stubbornness coming through, or his own. But now that he’s over his initial trepidation of having them in his arms, he’s loathe to let go himself. And so he carries them through the sleepy streets of their affluent suburb. Dreading the moment when he’ll have to hand the two of them back over to their mother and take to space for however long it is until Padmé calls him back.

She’s waiting for them at the front door when they walk up. Arms crossed, an ostensibly unimpressed scowl on her mouth.

(Her hair is down and swept to the side, allowing her curls to tumble over her right shoulder. She’s wearing a flowing green gown that fits snugly against her waist and hips. And the jappor snippet he carved for her so long ago dangles around her bare neck. He quickly averts his eyes before she can catch him staring. He doesn’t do that anymore.)

It’s all an act. The twins don’t know that it was Padmé’s idea to go along with their little charade in the first place. She has to put on a good show.

He inclines his head in greeting as he approaches her, and moves to put the twins down, but is prevented from doing so when they each wrap their legs around his waist, still refusing to be parted from him.

“Stay for dinner,” Luke demands.

He looks questioningly at Padmé, unsure of how to answer him. This is as far as today was supposed to go.

“Stay,” she says simply, beckoning them inside. 

He nods graciously and carries the twins all the way into the sitting room before motioning to set them down again. This time when he does they go without protest, but bow their faces to the floor, unable to bear their mother’s censure. 

Padmé, having entirely too much fun playing the part of the seething mother, marches over to the twins, tips both of their heads back, and _glowers_.  

“One time, you two,” she warns. “Just this once.” 

“Yes, Mama,” they chorus before returning their heads to the floor in penitence.   

“We’re sorry,” Luke says softly. “Really, we are. We only wanted to…”

Padmé softens, her lips twisting into a regretful smile as she combs a hand through his blonde mop.

“I understand, sweetheart,” she assures him. “More than you know. I get it.”

She crouches down on her knees to wrap the two of them up in a tight hug, soothing the chastised creases on their faces with a gentle stroke of her hand

“It’s alright now,” she says warmly. “It’s done. Come on, dinner’s waiting.” 

Motioning for him to follow, she leads the twins into the dining room, where the meal is already laid out along the table set for four.

“Nerf stew!!!” the twins screech.

“We’re _starving_!” Luke groans, as he and Leia drag the chairs on the opposite ends of the table to the adjacent side. Why are they doing that? And _why_ didn’t he think to offer them anything to eat during that entire time they’d been on the ship. Kriff.

 _You can’t do this. What is this you call yourself doing? You can’t do this._  

“Sit here,” Leia commands, patting the seat of the chair in between them. 

Sheepishly realizing that he’s been standing off to the side at the edge of the room this entire time, he comes over to sit between the twins, who have already begun to tuck into their dinner. The plate in front of him is piled high with meat and vegetables and lentils, and he grimaces. Padmé’s given him way too much. He can’t eat all of this.

Banking on everyone being too busy listening to Leia recount their little adventure to their mother, he slowly slides the plate towards his daughter’s, and begins to spoon bits of his portion onto her’s. He’s in the middle of doing the same to Luke’s when Padmé catches him and loudly clears her throat just as Leia is describing how they got past her security team. And now everyone’s eyes are on him. Not so lucky after all, then.

“They said they were starving,” he explains lamely.

“There’s more than enough left over for seconds,” Padmé says calmly. Gesturing to the covered dish at the center of the table and raising her eyebrow in reprimand.

The serving spoon inside the dish lifts up then, and comes floating over toward him, dumping a huge helping of stew onto his plate with a heavy _plop!_ Splattering bits of gravy all over his face. Padmé is not amused.

“ _Luke_! I’ve told you a hundred times, _no using the Force at the table!”_  

“Sorry!” the little boy squeaks. Slouching down in his seat under his mother’s glare. “But look! I didn’t spill anything this time.” 

“You spilled all over Daddy,” Leia points out, while primly handing him a napkin. He takes it, thanking her quietly.

Poor Luke’s face is bright red when he looks up at him. “Sor—“

“It’s alright,” he says quickly. Setting his hand lightly atop Luke’s head. “You did very well. But listen to your mother. It’s important to have good table manners.” 

“O- _kay_ ,” Luke grumbles, stabbing contemptuously at the little cubes of meat on his plate.

He looks over at Padmé to gauge her response. She gives him a tiny, teasing smirk as if to say _See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?_

He’s not sure what to make of any of this. But obediently returns to his own plate to finish what he can. 

 

* * *

  

Padmé orders Luke and Leia to bed as soon as dinner is over; but in keeping with the theme of the day, the twins have their own plans in mind in lieu of sleep.

“Daddy, help me pick out my pajamas.”

“Daddy, help me plan my outfit for tomorrow.”

“Daddy, which scent of bubble bath should we use?

“Daddy, can you check our closet for bad guys? Now do under the bed. Now check Mama’s room.”

“Daddy, can you braid my hair?”

“Mine too!”

“Yours’ isn’t long enough!”

“ _Well he can brush it_!”

“I’ll brush it. Don’t shout at each other. Please.”

“Daddy, let me show you my science project. It got second place at the fair this year and next year I’m gonna get first!”

“Daddy, did Mama tell you about my history report on the Clone Wars? I wrote about you and Obi-Wan and I got a 92! Do you wanna read it? Read it! It’s not that long!”

“Daddy, tell us a story!” 

“Another one! Ahsoka’s told us that one a hundred times already. Tell us one we haven’t heard before!”

“Ahsoka and I have a lot of the same stories. What if she’s already told you all the ones I have?”

“Just keep going through them. We’ll let you know…”

 

* * *

   

It’s three hours later and the twins can no longer postpone the inevitable. Not because they’ve run out of ideas. Oh no, he can see at least a dozen more brimming in both of their jumpy irises. But as much as he would love to answer every innocuous question and fulfill every minute request they have, and more, he has to put his foot down at some point. And that might as well be now when his babies are a hair’s breadth away from fainting from exhaustion.

“Daddy c’n I show you my speeder bike?” Luke mumbles into his shoulder, as he carries him and a steadily fading Leia to bed.

Neither of the twins can stand to sleep alone. A holdover from their days of sharing a tiny bunk in cramped sleeping quarters on a rebel base. So he lays them both down in Leia’s bed, taking special care to support their little heads as he sets them on the pillows. Padmé comes up behind him to tuck the covers around them.

“Now?” 

“Yeah,” Luke sighs. The ‘duh’ left implicit. “I’ve been _working_ on ‘t. I wan’a show it to you b’fore you go.” 

“Shhh,” he whispers, brushing Luke’s fringe back from his brow. “Maybe next time, Luke.”

“But I wanna—“

“He’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart,” Padmé coos. Pressing a kiss to each twin’s cheek. “You can show him in the morning.”

Two sets of dubious eyes lock on her. She remains perfectly composed under their scrutiny. Oblivious to it, almost. He doesn’t know what to make of _any of this_. This was not part of the plan. 

“ _Really_?” Luke asks him.

He sneaks another quick glance at Padmé for confirmation.

_Really?_

She nods. 

“Show me tomorrow,” he promises, with a gentle squeeze to Luke’s hand. “First thing.”

A slurred “’kay,” and the little boy shuts his eyes and joins his sister in slumber.

Feeling impulsive again, he takes a moment to lightly trail his fingertips along Luke’s cheek. Then Leia’s.

This scene is both familiar and not. Watching the twins sleep is one of the few indulgences he’s allowed himself over these past few years. But rarely has he had the chance to do so up close. And never, _never_ has he dared to actually touch them. Watching had been more than enough.

Had been.

After tomorrow he doesn’t know when he’ll see his children next. He imagines that by then Luke will probably have built himself an entirely new speeder bike. And at the rate Leia is going, she’ll have argued Padmé down to at least letting her have a mini-racer. 

Audaciously, he finds himself feeling… lonely, thinking of this. Of all the things he will miss after he leaves. Of all the things he’s already missed. Their first podrace. Their first birthday. Their first steps…

Of course, this isn’t the first time he’s thought of this. Force, sometimes it’s _all_ he can think about when it’s just the stars and his next mission for company up there in space. His babies and Padmé. Where they are. What they might be doing at that particular moment. Whether the twins liked their birthday presents. If Padmé got her latest bill passed. What the three of them are having for breakfast that morning. ~~(If any of them are thinking of him.)~~ He’s earned his solitary existence. He knows this. And up until now, now that he has actually met his twins, he has fully accepted his duly deserved exile. But now…Now, he _knows them._ And, well…

Longing, depthless and dangerous and for so long, dormant, unfurls itself from its knot inside his heart, ensnaring him in its net before he can slice it off. And oh, Force, what he wouldn’t give to—

Padmé takes him by the hand, and the net is cut to ribbons. She gives him a prompting squeeze and a grin he can’t decipher and waits.

(She’s changed out of the outfit she’d worn for dinner in favor of an embroidered ivory nightdress under a navy blue dressing gown. Her hair is still loose, messy curls flowing freely down her back, and she’s still wearing her jappor snippet. His eyes do not linger on her for too long.)

He doesn’t know what for, and his unpreparedness coupled with her expectation makes him squirm. It occurs to him now that this whole evening, perhaps even this whole ordeal has all been some secret test of hers’. A game. The purpose of which he cannot even begin to fathom. Ungratefully, he wishes she would quit staring at him and just tell him whether he’s passed or failed. Until finally, after a full thirty seconds of her smiling and his squirming, she lets him out of his misery. 

“Look at you,” she says softly. Entwining their fingers, tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. 

“What?”

“You’re smiling,” she beams. Practically glowing now. “You haven’t stopped since you got here.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

He hadn’t picked up on it before, but now that she’s mentioned it his face has felt numb for a while now. Is that what it’s from?

“Don’t stop,” she says, clutching his hand in a nervous grip. “Please, I didn’t tell you that to make you self-conscious. It’s just…”

Her glow dims. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep it from wobbling.

_Do you see what you do?!_

He reaches out instinctively to cup her cheek and draws back just as fast. He never touches her now without her expressed permission. This whole day has been him forgetting himself.

“What? What is it?”

“I haven’t seen you like this since I first told you about my pregnancy,” she says in a small voice, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Embarrassed, she brushes them away before they can fall. His chest tightens yet again as all the breath leaves his lungs, and they shrivel under the smoky strain of memory. Of discarded promises and broken dreams.

“Oh.”

She smiles a watery smile. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I’m sorry… I just—“

“Don’t,” he grunts, too roughly. Her grip loosens and he brings his hand back into his lap. “Please. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

She nods, clearing her throat and scrubbing a hand over her face and through her hair. Composure restored, she slides her hand over his, entwining their fingers again.

“Are you ready,” she asks steadily.

His lungs still shriveled, he wheezes out a muted sigh and steals another greedy glance down at Luke and Leia before looking back to her 

“Yes.”

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so as you might have noticed, this is not complete. I'm having a DEVIL of a time finishing up this one little snippet. But as it's been months since I've updated ANYTHING I wanted to get this little bit out in a perhaps wasted effort to motivate myself into publishing SOMETHING. 
> 
> Anyway, I am working furiously on pt. 2 and will have it up SOON. For the love of God it WILL be soon or I will go insane X__X


	2. Chapter 2

Padmé is silent as she leads him down the hall to her bedroom, and he is back to squirming. He’s got the feeling that her test is not yet finished after all. There’s more. He can tell. But he can also tell that she’s pleased with him. Not that that matters much in this instance. Considering everything that’s between them, it’s entirely too easy for him to please Padmé. That, in and of itself in no way means that he’s met whatever challenge she’s put forth. He must bear that in mind.

And yet…rarely is she ever _this_ happy with him.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

Mercifully, it’s business as usual as soon as they enter her bedroom. She strips off his robe and tunic, and helps him slip out of his leggings, leaving the clothes in a pile by the door for Threepio to collect and mend. Then sits him on the foot of her bed to wait while she fetches her medkit from the ‘fresher.

He surveys the old welts and bruises along his legs and torso with a combination of disgust and fascination, while absently picking at the crusted scabs along his arms. It’s almost comical. He had a flesh and bone body for twenty-two years, and it only took four for him to completely forget how to properly maintain one. Add that to the list of the many, many things he allowed his former Master to take from him.

Objectively, though, he can say that he has gotten better since Padmé’s begun checking after him. He remembers to eat and wash on a schedule now. And when his clothes become too ratty for Padmé to stand, he makes sure to be wearing something new the next time she sees him.

It’s only when it comes to patching up an injury, that he can’t seem to—

( _“The suit has been deactivated. May we begin, Lord Sidious?”_

_“Proceed.”_

_“Affirmative. Commencing tune up.”_ )

To…

( _The cracking of his sternum reverberates off the halls of the chamber, piercing even his own melted eardrums. The droid’s pincers pull apart his breastbone and plunge undauntedly into the cavity. Pinching and tearing off bits of necrotic tissue. Vader’s sure there’s a scream gurgling in his flayed throat. But no one around him seems to hear. Except Master, who chuckles_.)

To…

( _“Please…Please…”_

_“Apologies, Lord Vader, but my programming doesn’t allow me to administer sedative.”_

_“Please…Master…Please…please…”_

_“You will be silent, Lord Vader, and learn from this. Perhaps next time you won’t be so reckless.”_ )

Anyway,

He knows it vexes Padmé that he leaves himself like this. Wounds gaping, old bandages festering. He knows this. And he has been trying to be better about it. Really. But in his defense, it’s only too easy to ignore an injury when in an instant you can go from taping up a bandage to bolted down on a slab of durasteel, completely immobile and utterly at the mercy of the med-droid drilling into your sacrum. ~~Especially without anyone around to remind you of why you should even bother.~~

Of course he would never say so to Padmé’s face, but it’s the truth that there are much worse pains one can endure than a vibroblade to the face or a blaster bolt to the chest. Most of the time such trivial scrapes don’t even register to him.

Padmé returns from the ‘fresher and drags the plush stool from her vanity up to the bed. Before she sits she reaches out to him, tipping up his chin to one more time, ask,

“Are you ready?”

( _“Proceed"_ )

“Yes.”

( _“Commencing tune-up._ ”)

“Alright then,” she says softly. And giving his shoulders a final, bracing squeeze, she takes her seat and pulls his right leg into her lap.

A week ago, a Rodian caught him by surprise with the business end of his dagger, and in the ensuing scuffle, managed to slice open his calf muscle. He’d bummed a lighter off of a deathstick dealer and cauterized the wound that night on the ship. Since that time, it’s ballooned from a thin red line along the side of his leg, into a puffy, pus-colored ridge of mottled flesh, stretching all the way up to his hamstring. Padmé uses about half a jumbo bottle of bacta on it and bundles it up in a quarter inch of gauze and bandages. He can hardly bend his leg when she’s done, but the sting is gone. He hadn’t even noticed it was there until she’d taken it away.

( _Vader’s legs have to be completely rebuilt after being melted down in the explosion he’d gotten himself caught in. These new ones will be sturdier, Master promises. But we’ll have to take his kneecaps, the engineer warns. So be it, Master grins._

 _And so it is. The droids grind what remains of his knees down to fine powder, with slow, delicate precision. Vader cannot hear the hum of the buzz saw filing away his bones, for they’ve removed his helmet, and with it, his ears. But he can feel it. Grating. Grating… Grating… Grating…_ )

Next comes his flesh arm, now streaked with blood and gritty brown crumbles thanks to all that time he spent picking open the scabs. Padmé takes the carnage in stride. Dabbing at each puckered sore with a wet washrag, and carefully smoothing a bacta patch over every one. The kind that will dissolve into his skin once the sore heals so that he won’t have to bother with remembering to pull them off again.

( _Vader hasn’t seen his flesh arm in over two years…At least, he thinks it’s been that long. He can’t be sure about these things anymore. That part of his brain that holds the concrete memories of his former life is a desolate quag of miry gray sludge on a good day. Wading through it is never an enjoyable exercise._

_In any case, after his latest failure, Master has expressed concern about the functionality of his left arm. He believes the flesh portion may be infected and has instructed his droids to investigate._

_And so Vader watches as the dulled blades fixed to the ends of their pincers peel away layer after layer of flayed skin and muscle. Their strokes rough and haphazard, reminiscent of the way he would hack away at the thin layer of skin on a piece of shurra fruit, because She didn’t like—NO! NO! NONONONONONO—_

_His cries scrape the shredded cords of his scorched throat raw._

_Above him, Master cackles._ )

Padmé tuts to herself as she cuts through the tattered, yellowed bandage plastered to his abdomen. He’d tried his best with this one. He knows to tread carefully with blaster bolt wounds, and he thinks he did good with remembering to bandage it. It’s only that when it came time to change the bandage he, well…couldn’t. He can’t say why. Weakness, he supposes.

He expects a glare or a stern “I want you to be better about this, Anakin,” from her. But Padmé just shakes her head and doesn’t so much as glance at him as she balls the soiled old bandage up, rubs salve on the angry, purpled gash, and covers it with a fresh dressing. He continues to let his head hang.

( _Master inadvertently fried the control panel of the suit while administering Vader’s most recent punishment, which means all of the burnt out wires and organs must now be replaced._

_Comparatively, the sharp pique of the needle threading each individual wire through his veins and what remains of his flesh organs, one by one isn’t at all painful. But his new heart and lungs are quite heavy._

_There is a thick barrier of durasteel and manufactured bone that separates the control panel and his metal organs from his ribcage, and yet the weight of Vader’s new organs still crush him. He can feel his ribs creak and bend with every breath he draws. Every step he takes. Every time he kneels before his Master._ )

“Does this hurt?” Padmé asks. Carefully circling his prosthetic arm around his rotator cuff.

It had—badly—the last time he was here. He could barely move the arm at all, and aside from making him a sling and giving him some generic brand pain meds, there hadn’t been much Padmé could do. He’d had to seek out a professional. Turns out that that zabrak bounty hunter had snapped his proximal humerus when she’d smashed him in the shoulder with her durasteel baton. Go figure.

“Not anymore. The doctor told me I broke my upper arm. He put me in a sling for four weeks and gave me some pills. It was fine after that. I’m supposed to go easy on it, though.”

Her hands tighten around his arm and shoulder in a significant grip. He doesn’t dare turn around to see her face.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs.

“You went to see a doctor on your own?” she says quietly. For some reason sounding surprised by this.

“It hurt,” he shrugs. Unsure of why she is so focused on this. “I could hardly use it.”

Padmé hums thoughtfully to herself and releases him after a moment. “Okay,” she says lightly. “I think that’s it for tonight. You’re done.”

She gathers up her supplies and heads back into the ‘fresher to put them away and wash her hands. He waits for her on the bed, still totally confused as to what’s just happened.

There’s a duality in her demeanor when she emerges. A tightness coiled in the tiny smile on her face. A rigidity in her posture as she takes a seat next to him on the bed. As though Amidala and Padmé were waging an internal battle inside their head to determine who will be the one to deal with him next.

Padmé wins.

“You did well today,” she says. Softly stroking a hand down his back. “With the twins, with everything, actually. You’re doing very well. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”

There’s more she has to say. He doesn’t want to interrupt her, but he can tell she’s expecting him to say something in response to that. But what can he? It’s all untrue and undeserved, but pointing that out would be argumentative, not to mention ungrateful. He doesn’t know what to do.

“I upset them today,” he admits, opting for honesty. “On the ship. I think I may have accidentally called them mistakes—only that wasn’t what I was trying to say. I’d never say anything like that. I’d never even think anything like—I don’t. Ever. I swear. It’s just…them being there with me…it felt like…I was doing something wrong…”

“I let them get on that ship,” Padmé reminds him sharply, but not unkindly. “If I had any doubts about how safe they’d be with you. Any at all. Even the slightest inkling that something could go wrong, they’d never have made it past me.”

“I know,” he mumbles. _That’s not the point,_ he doesn’t say.

“You’re putting on weight,” she remarks off-handedly. He almost does a double-take at the abrupt change in subject. “That must mean you’ve started eating better.”

He nods. “I set an alarm on the ship. It goes off every eight hours to remind me.”

“And I assume you’ve also set one to remind you to shower and change your clothes.”

He nods again. “Every twenty-four.”

What is she getting at?

“But not one to remind you to change your bandages?”

He flinches. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. That wasn’t a dig, then.

“I don’t forget about them, most of the time,” he whispers, shamefacedly. “I know they need tending to. It’s just…hard. It makes me remember things.”

“The way being with the twins does?” she prods. “The way being with me does?”

He gulps. “Yes…”

“But you did enjoy yourself today. It was good, wasn’t it? Being with them? Answering a million and one questions? Having dinner with us? Tucking them into bed? It was good, right?”

Recollection of the day’s events washes over into him, a crushing tsunami of warmth and love and the slimmest bit of hope, and he shivers. Padmé squeezes his hand and rubs his back, while he just lets his head hang even lower. Yes, it was. Of course it was. Flashbacks and nonstop foot-in-mouth moments notwithstanding, today was without a doubt the uncontested, unrivaled best day of his life.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” she says simply. A pause, and then after a brief deliberation. “Well, Ani, the way I see it is this; the twins want their father, I want my husband. And I’ve decided that after everything we’ve been through, I’m in no mood to deny any of us whatever it is we want for the rest of our lives. So now, I suppose the only question is, what do you want, Anakin?”

He freezes. His lungs deflate, the remaining breath hitching in his throat and making him choke on it.

Want.

Once, he’d wanted. He’d wanted so many things. Freedom. His mother’s freedom. To make Obi-Wan proud he’d taken on Anakin Skywalker as his padawan. To be the best husband he could be to Padmé. To drown her in love and adoration, as the least he could do in return for her letting him become her husband. To make Ahsoka proud to call Anakin Skywalker her Master. To be the greatest general the galaxy had ever seen, and to bring a swift end to the War. To finally, _finally_ gain the High Council’s respect and approval. To be a great father. To save his wife from a cruel and untimely death. To bring Order and Peace to his Master’s Empire. To succeed as a Sith where he’d failed as a Jedi. To protect the family he’d thought he’d killed.

He’d wanted so many things. And every time, _every single time_ he tried to reach for it, doing so had resulted in blood and death and destruction. For the people who cared for him. For innocents. For himself. Disaster. Nothing short of ruin and anguish had ever come from him wanting. The best thing he could have ever done for anyone, himself included, is lock away that part of himself that had Wanted, that had been arrogant, and selfish, and longing, and wanting, lock it all up and hand what was left over to someone Good and Wise, who would know what to do with the remaining scraps.

And now that person was asking him to do the untenable.

Want. He wants so many things. To tell Luke and Leia Every Single Story he has left of his adventures with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. To listen to _their_ stories. To share meals with them, to tuck them into bed every night, and to be there when they wake up in the morning. Every morning. To take them to podraces, and build speeder bikes with them, and to go to their science fairs and school plays and parent-teacher conferences. To watch them grow up and have the childhood and the life he’d always envisioned his children having. A good life. A happy life. A Free life.

To be Padmé’s husband again. To love her properly this time around. To wake up every day beside her, guilt-free. Knowing that he was allowed this. That there was no ancient Code or solemn oath or sacred duty or insurmountable past transgression hanging over them, blighting their love. Reminding him that he wasn’t enough. That she deserves a partner she can be proud of. Someone whole. Someone Good like her, who has never attacked her in a crazed stupor. Someone deserving.

To have a home, a real home. A place that feels like home, for the first time since he left his mother behind on Tatooine. To have a life, and people to share it with. A family. _His_ family, who for some reason can deign to love him in spite of all that he is and never was and can never be again.

_~~This is it. This is what I want. This is all I’ve ever wanted.~~ You can’t do this._

And so he answers

“You and Luke and Leia, safe and happy.”

“And that’s it?”

He nods. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well, we are that. We’ve been safe and happy ever since you brought down the Empire. For four years we’ve been as safe and happy as we could possibly be given that I’m still a high profile senator. And if you choose not to stay, we’d continue on as we have been. Do you understand? We certainly don’t _need_ you with us to be safe or happy.”

Her words gut him, but he knows and has long accepted the truth of them. And so he nods. But that’s not enough. She’s waiting for him to say something, to do something. And then it hits him. This is it. The test. Moment of truth. Sink or swim.

He inhales deeply. Still unsure of what to make of this. He’s tried all night, but he’s totally at a loss. He hopes this will be enough. It has to be. He’s got nothing else.

“All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness, Padmé. It’s all that I live for now. All that I am is for you and the twins.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, but she shakes her head ever so slightly. That wasn’t it. Of course it’s not. She knows that already.

“Then do something for me,” she says in a soft voice, piercing him with Amidala’s probing stare.

“Of course. Anything.”

“I want you to talk to Kix.” At his questioning look, she elaborates. “He’s already agreed. And he has extensive psychiatric training, in addition to his medical training. I want you to start meeting with him to discuss…well, everything. Everything that’s happened to you, with you and me. Everything to do with Tatooine and the Jedi and Palpatine and us. I think he’ll be able to help you.”

He must look very dubious at this because she gives him something special to reassure him. A kiss. Tender and fervent and lingering on his lips.

“Start meeting with him regularly,” she orders, her mouth moving against his. “Weekly. Over comcall if you have to, if you’re in the middle of a mission and can’t see him in person.”

“As you wish,” he vows. Then immediately wants to throttle himself. Padmé hates it when he says that. But she doesn’t bother to scold him for it because there’s one more request she has to make

“Come see us more often,” she demands. Her eyes soft and pleading with him. “All three of us. The twins know you now. They’re not going to be content to go back to the way things were before. So we’ll have to figure out how this is going to go from here on out.”

He hesitates. “But…my work…I can’t…”

“I’m not telling you to stop,” she says wearily. “I work too, you know. Like I said. We’ll work it out. We’ll take it slow.”

She leans in to kiss him again, bringing her legs over to rest across his lap. Brazenly, he wraps his arms around her middle and tentatively pulls her closer to him. She goes, lifting herself up on her knees to straddle him on either side.

“The twins want you here,” she murmurs into another kiss. “ _I_ want you here.”

 _Then I’m here_ , he pants, hot and heavy against her lips. Belatedly asking himself if that was something he should have said out loud because she still looks so disappointed.

_You can’t do this._

He knows. He knew from the start that he was going to fail her test. He never stood a chance. It was a fool’s mission.

And yet, as Padmé guides him back against the cushions of her bed, and whispers “ _Touch me_ ” as she nibbles the shell of his ear, he takes a moment to wonder at how lucky he is, in spite of everything he's done, to have a Master who rewards him, even in the event of failure.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, an update so soon! Could there perhaps be another on the horizon? I don't know. But I hope y'all liked this one :)


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